


Ghost

by slyferris (Ethsei)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bikers, M/M, Past Abuse, Police, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethsei/pseuds/slyferris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt fill: Changmin’s nothing but a ghost in Seoul City. Yunho’s a clan leader who doesn’t leave a trace in his wake. Or: in which the ghost catches the king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a prologue--actual chapters will be around 3k each. :)

“You’re an interesting case, Shim Changmin,” the deputy says, cigarette unlit between his fingers. “How rude of me,” he laughs and pats the inside of his brown leather jacket, pulling out a white box of cigarettes. He offers one to Changmin and he takes it, though he doesn’t even smoke, he just needs something to do with his hands.

“Eighteen without a home address to speak of, no job, no phone—actually, no records at fuckin’ all. You’ve a pretty face but you don’t look nothing to me like a whore, and trust me, in this city we get a tonne of ‘em coming in. You’re not nothing but a ghost in New York, kid. So, what do you do to stay alive?”

Changmin stays silent and watches as the deputy lights his cigarette and takes a long pull, motioning for Changmin to put the stick between his lips. He wets his lips and places the paper between his lips, not sucking the smoke when it’s lit but letting his hand fall to the table, eyes trained on the smoke. “I get by,” he says, his voice soft compared to the rough grunt of the deputy.

“I’m sure you do,” the deputy smiles, “but you’re a fuck lot better than the rest of them street kids I see. So, is it drugs? Are you a pusher?”

“No,” he snaps, lips curled. He lets out a long breath and looks to the two way mirror, eyeing it with disdain. The lidded lamp casts an unhealthy yellow light over the room, not a window in sight. Changmin feels like he’s suffocating, and he’s almost certain that’s just what they want.

The deputy opens his hands in silent question.

“I do what I need to survive, and that’s all you need to know. I’m not a pusher, and certainly not a whore.”

The deputy gives a parody of a smile, all teeth. “That’s a shame.”

Anger rises in Changmin’s chest like a dog in a cage.

“You see, Changmin, finding a ghost is harder than one would think. Usually there are records scattered here and there—past police run ins, school records and the like, but with _you,_ ” he sucks on his cigarette and blows a curl of smoke, “nada. Nothing. Not even a trace. Your fingerprints are clean as a fancy toilet and there’s not a photo I can track down of you on our records.”

“So?” Changmin says, irritated. The deputy gives him the creeps and his skin crawls with goose bumps every time they make eye contact. “If you’re going to arrest me, just do it already.”

The deputy taps his nose and gives a dry bark of laughter. “Changmin, I’m not going to arrest you. I’m going to _use_ you.”

 


	2. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shim Changmin becomes Max Changmin.

 

“Jung Yunho,” deputy Grunderman says, “is our main suspect. We know he’s been bending the rules and selling off drug cartels for years, but we’ve never gotten the right evidence to nab him off the streets and into our cells.”

Changmin sits in a darkened room, the only thing lighting the place up is a projection board with said Jung Yunho’s face plastered right up on it. Changmin has to admit he’s handsome. The written profile to the right states he’s thirty-two, born in Gwangju, and six foot. He’s got eyes that dip sharp in the corners, jaw strong and pointed, and his mouth pouted with a tiny black mole just above his lip. He’s the perfect image of a man you’d take home to your parents, but Changmin knows that the surface belies his real persona.

“We’ve been chasing this particular lead for six months, and it’s the one we need you to help on. We’ve got coppers running themselves psycho through this city just trying to catch the tail end of the rumours, but no one’s been able to get close enough to the inner workings. We’ve had Cho in investigation for all these months, but not a single thing has been said to him. All he does is ride his fancy motorbike and get drunk with the crew, hitting up some petty crime. It’s nothing significant—nothing we can trace directly back to Jung Yunho. And that, my friend, is where you come in.”

Changmin swallows through the lump in his throat and scratches his nails down the wooden desk, trying for a distraction. “What do you want me to do?

“You see,” Grunderman says whilst tapping his finger against the projector, the image fluttering and bending, “the problem we’ve been having is there’s no weak spot in this fucker’s amour. He’s solid as a brick. But there’s one thing he’s partial to that we know of, and it’s pretty young boys like you. Kyuhyun… well he’s not an attractive fellow I’d say, but he’s not pretty like you. He’s more of a uh,” the deputy struggles for words, “handsome type. You, however, got that innocence about him that he likes. We’ve seen his tricks come and go through the station and kid, they all look a right sight like you.”

Changmin clears his throat and sits up in his chair. He curls his fists and his nails scrape on the table. “You’re asking me to _fuck_ a guy I don’t know?”

Grunderman holds out his hands. “Not fuck, just tease him. Wind him up and get what you can from him. I won’t lie, it’s dangerous work and you’ve got to know that before you step foot in this job. This ain’t no picnic where your worst enemy is the ants that’ll crawl in your basket. At worst, you could be killed.” As Changmin tenses, Grunderman gives a placating smile. “I said _could,_ at _worst._ I’ve been in this station for twenty years, kid, and I’ve not ever seen a single undercover get his identity blown so bad he gets a pistol to the head… possibly a little maiming here and there, but they’ve all come out alive in the end.”

Changmin thinks this guy really needs to take a lesson on human relations.

“And what do I get out of this? Why should I help you?.”

Grunderman smiles like a cat who’s got the cream. “We’ll reduce your three year jail time for stealing down to fifty hours of community service.”

Changmin picks a splinter from the table and flicks it to the floor. “How long will it take?”

“Depends. Sometimes a few weeks, other times months. I’d bank on maybe a year at the longest since it’s a tough case to crack, but it sure beats rotting your arse off in jail. While you’re in commission, we’ll give you a house to stay and some salary to make the deal sweeter.”

Changmin contemplates his options. He’s homeless, having run away three years ago when he was only fifteen, but though he won’t admit it the prospect of going undercover shakes him. Having to work with the police riles him the most of all, though.

“I don’t know,” Changmin says. “Can I think on it at least?”

“Think as much as your pretty brain wants, kid. But you’ll be back. I can see it in your eyes.”

He wants to smack Grunderman’s mouth.

 

/

 

Changmin spends the night curled up under the subway, dilapidating tents lining the area of the most popular homeless hub. The police had tried chasing them out so many times Changmin couldn’t even count, but they never managed to make them budge, no matter how many they arrested over ‘obstruction’, like they had no right to live just because they didn’t have a home and cash to bring. It made Changmin’s stomach rot and sour and his hands shake with rage. He hated the police. He _hated_ them. They knew nothing of the troubles they went through just to stay breathing.

Minho, Changmin’s best friend in the network, takes a seat next to him and holds out a hunk of brown bread, face split in a grin.

Changmin returns the smile and takes the bread, ripping into it with gusto. “Thanks man,” he says through his full mouth.

“I had extra,” Minho says, like it’s not a big deal, which it really is. He could’ve saved the rations for himself, but instead he chose to share with Changmin. The thought makes him warm despite the chilly Spring night’s air.

They camp together for a few days, Minho letting him share his tent, until the worst happens.

They wake up to sirens and look at each other in alarm, but before they can pull together their things and make a dash for it, an officers got the tent open and a gun trained on them both—overkill, Changmin would say. He supposes it’s a safety measure after one of the kids lost his shit and beat the crap out of an officer.

“You have the right to remain silent…” Changmin blocks it out. He’s heard the Miranda rights far too many times for him to feel happy about it. He and Minho along with five others who didn’t hear the sirens in time are cuffed and shoved in the back of police cars.

Minho’s pale and looks a moment away from crying. Changmin wants to hold his hand and tell him it’s all right, but the fucking cuffs won’t give him any leverage.

“Minho,” Changmin placates.

Minho just shakes his head. “There isn’t any future here for us here, Changmin.”

Changmin knows just how true that really is.

 

/

 

Grunderman stops outside the cell he and the others are sharing. Minho sits with his head between his knees, breathing in and out slowly. Changmin knows that Minho’s been in the subway for years now and considered it his own home. But now he was being pulled away from the only one home he had. It hurts Changmin to know, and his resentment ices over colder.

“What?” he snaps, knowing he must look a sight in his tatty clothes next to the deputy with a snappy suit and shoes that probably cost more than Changmin’s ever held in his hand.

“Come with me, Changmin.”

He does, because he has no choice. In truth, he wants to punch the fucker and curse at him, let him know just how much he hates him. A thought strikes him when they reach Grunderman’s office, a mix of green and jarrah brown, all furniture black leather and new.

“Did you call the cops on me?”

Grunderman takes a seat behind his desk, a painting of a deep forest hanging behind his head. He smiles easily. “I did.”

Changmin can’t even react, he’s so pissed off. He would launch himself at the man if he didn’t think he’d get himself into even deeper trouble trying it.

“Don’t get too tied up, kid. I want to make a deal with you. Sit.”

Changmin sits upon the most expensive couch he’s ever laid eyes on, body stiff despite the pull of the soft leather enticing him to relax. “What? Are you going to tell me that you’ll let me go if I agree to be your insider? You know, maybe I’d prefer to rot in jail, at least there I get a bed and three meals a day and don’t run the risk of being _killed._ ”

“I have a nicer offer than that.” Grunderman’s voice is smooth but it grinds on every bone in Changmin’s body. “If you co-operate and infiltrate Jung’s gang, we’ll set you up real nice in a fancy house, the likes of which you’ve never seen before—“

“You told me that already,” Changmin snaps.

Grunderman holds up a placating hand. _“And,_ your friends won’t be bothered again. At least not by our county. We’ll let them live there and not say a word about it. Your friend—the one you came here with? He’ll be let off scot free, and as will all those other little ones locked up in that cell.”

Changmin clenches his hand in a tight fist. It’s emotional blackmail if he’s ever seen it, and Grunderman does it with practiced ease. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“If I succeed, shouldn’t I expect something nicer? You’re risking my life here and while I have to say a home is nice, it doesn’t exactly live up to the risk, deputy.”

“If there’s something you want, just ask.”

Changmin sucks in a deep breath. “I want immunity for what I do in these months to come.” Grunderman nods and Changmin leaves a long pause. “And I want you to lock a son of a bitch up for good.”

The deputy raises his eyebrow. “We can’t lock someone up for doing nothing wrong.”

Changmin laughs, but it’s twisted and hollow. “He’s done plenty wrong, trust me on this one. I can give you firsthand accounts. I can tell you he’s smuggled shit over the borders in the past, and he hits his wife. If you can’t catch him for smuggling, you can at least get him for domestic abuse, right?”

Grunderman leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together. “And _who_ exactly am I arresting?”

Changmin closes his eyes. “My father.”

 

/

 

“Your name from now on is Max Changmin. You’re seventeen years old, a runaway, and hate the cops. You’ve got a drunk of a father, and your mother’s a prostitute. You’ve been on the run from the cops for petty crime for years, but you want to step it up a notch. You’re sick of stealing small time—you want it big. You want the cash, and Max Changmin is willing to do _anything_ for it. Jung will like you more for it if you’re desperate and naive.”

Changmin smirks, “that’s not exactly what I’d call an _undercover_ identity, deputy. It’s a bit too close to the truth, don’t you think?”

“Yes, well, we like to keep it close to the truth. It’s not as if you can be traced, ghost.”

“No,” Changmin agrees. “I made sure of that when I left.”

Grunderman lets out a bark of laughter. “You really did. Never seen a kid with his head on his shoulders quite like you before. You’ve got brains, kid, and the face to make this work. I’m putting my faith in you, so you better no let me down.”

Changmin shrugs. “I’ll do what I can.”

He gets a clap on his shoulder that stings right through his shirt. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, let’s get you changed up a bit, shall we?”


End file.
